Quite a Paradox
by Era Daven
Summary: One fine October afternoon Hermione and Draco get the same idea: reading outside in the same proximity. Strange how a little one word confession changes so much...


**Disclaimer: **Is it really that hard to tell that I'm not J.K. Rowling? Would _she _actually write a travesty such as this? Come on, people, now really…

**A/N:**Assuming that she does indeed like the story and does not come after me for doing so because it is the single most horrid thing she has read; I dedicate this fanfic to fellow author and online friend irishartemis for her love of all things Draco.

* * *

"Quite a Paradox"

**T**he late October sun shone down glitteringly bright through a thin layer of cloud onto Hogwarts Castle, warming in long, tapering spotlights on places within the shadow of the school's imposing bulk. It was Saturday, and all over the school's grounds and by the lake many students, either studying or just lounging about chatting, were taking advantage of what might be one of the last enjoyable days before the cold grey inherent for season set in. Hermione, who had spent the past three-o-clock hour up in the Gryffindor common room half-reading, half-watching Ron and Harry's sixth game of chess, decided to continue on with book outside in the lovely weather. She advised her two friends to do the same, but Ron just shrugged vaguely, engrossed in the game as Harry's black knight took Ron's bishop, thus boxing in the white king.

"Checkmate," Harry announced proudly for the third time in only thirty-five minutes.

"Wow, you're really getting good at that, Harry," Hermione remarked, looking over the black-haired boy's shoulder while pulling on her sky-blue jacket.

"Yeah, I've been playing chess a lot lately," he replied, grinning at Ron who with his brow furrowed stared incredulously at the checkered game board.

"I meant your making Ron make that face," she giggled, patting Ron's red head as she passed on her way out the door. "I'll see you guys later."

* * *

Hermione strolled past the lake to find a quiet and less crowded part of the grounds and discovered a perfect spot to read beneath the spreading, intertwined branches of four towering maple trees, edged right up against the boundary of the forbidden forest. Leaning back up against the trunk of one, she sighed happily as she opened her book and began to read, frequently and subconsciously re-tucking a lock of unruly hair behind her ear. The book, a biography, was about the Muggle-born Marta Clemmens, one of the most remembered and honored Witches of the 17th century. Clemmens, an extremely skilled potion-maker, had been a gifted healer and had saved many lives of both Muggles and Wizards during the plague years through her discovery of an antibiotic draught made from the distilled leaves of the rare, flowering Lurzel plant. Hermione had been reading it for three days straight, and there remained but only a few chapters of the three hundred page volume that she was determined to finish that day.

After some time, she looked up at her surroundings, musing, and discovered that apparently fellow sixth year student and Slytherin antagonist Draco Malfoy had gotten the same idea as she. By the tree farthest to her right, with his white blond head tilted down over a thick book, Draco appeared to be either reading or studying quite ardently, either theory sounding most dubious to Hermione.

_That's strange; I didn't see him there earlier, _she thought, quickly lowering her eyes back to the page; for although she was hidden from his sight by the tree between them, the last she wanted was to catch the ferret's attention. She resumed her reading, but now felt distracted. For some very odd, inexplicable reason, she was curious as to what book could possibly hold Draco Malfoy's attention for longer than ten minutes. She never saw him reading or studying, not to mention reading _and_ sitting so alone so very quietly.

_Snape must have threatened him personally to get a good grade on the exam! _She decided. Leaning forward, slightly sideways, she tried as clandestinely as she could to peer around the tree trunk. Immersed in his book, Malfoy apparently hadn't noticed her presence at all or simply chose to ignore it, his sharp, chiseled jaw casting a shadow over the open pages. Hermione sat in the uncomfortable position for a while, before silently standing up, still staring, entranced by his image, not that it wasn't common for most of the girls at the school to become that way when setting sights upon the good-looking Slytherin boy. With strands of pale hair falling and fanning across his forehead whenever the breeze picked up, glinting nuances of gold in the sunlight filtering down through the tree branches, he looked as if he were the model of a painting, meditating scholarly among the russet and dusky greens of autumn. He wore the hunter green sweater provided for the sixth year students of Slytherin House; the dark colour, which in Hermione's opinion, just made his pink-hued porcelain complexion all the more paler, you'd think sickly if he did not appear that way most of the time. Even when he wasn't wearing his uniform, Malfoy dressed in such formal clothes, so the un-tucked shirt tails hanging visible beneath his sweater seemed rather incongruous with Mr. Malfoy's style, yet intrigued her all the more to ponder his, to her, suddenly surprising complex manner. A sudden rustle of the boughs above them both brought down a shower of burnt orange-red leaves, adding even more beauty to Hermione's scenery which quickly turned metaphorically hideous as the falling foliage caused Draco to look up as well, spotting all within his view, especially unmistakable Hemione's bushy head. Throwing herself back onto the grass, Hermione frantically flipped her book open. But she had been too slow and noisy.

Draco's expressionless face from reading grew a look of accusation. "Granger! Why are you spying on me?" he called out, getting up and walking over to her.

Breathing hard, Hermione hid her face behind her book and ignored him.

"Hello, Mudblood Granger?" he said in an exaggerated, mock-friendly tone. "I'd like to know why the hell you were watching me."

"Why the _hell _would you think I'm looking at you...or that _I'd_ be looking at you, rather?!" she replied brusquely, keeping her head down to hide her flushed face.

"Oh, so you _were_ looking at something?'

"No."

"Not even birdwatching?"

"No."

"Nothing _at all_?"

"No!"

"So, you just like standing, leaning against trees, staring off in what just happens to be my direction?"

"Yes," she said matter-of-factly, as if staring above and around and everywhere else but _at_ Draco Malfoy was the most normal activity in the world. "And if I forgive you for your _extremely _rude interruption, will you go away? As you can see, I'm trying to read."

Draco grinned teasingly, craning his neck to see over her book. "Oh yes, my mistake, I had forgotten that you didn't know how…" he sniggered, obviously trying to provoke her, but since she didn't reply, much to his chagrin, he tried again. He caught a glance of the page. "Yep, there's an hour's worth of reading on that page _at least_."

Hermione actually focused her eyes on what she had been staring at for the past few minutes. "T_he Life of Marta Clemmens, Part III, The Plague and the Potion: another Year of Tragedy_," she murmured unknowing aloud. It was the title page, nothing more. Embarrassed again, she slammed the volume shut.

Draco smirked triumphantly. "Yes, reading, are we…?"

"GO AWAY, MALFOY!"

He laughed again. "Oh, you're getting upset…underlining emotional evidence perhaps?" he placed his hand against the maple and gazed down at her arrogantly. She was about to say something else, but he cut her off, deliberately, just in time. "Do you really, _really _want me to go, because your blushing tells me otherwise. A few minutes ago the Mudblood couldn't take her eyes off me…"

_That_ comment was too much to let go. Hermione bolted up and shouted into his face. "You make me sick! It's not just because you and your moronic thugs Crabbe and Goyle have been bullying practically everyone since first year, that you think you can have everything you want and rule the world just because of your father, but because you're _so _damn arrogant, controlling, depraved, egotistical, ignorant, insulting, narcissistic—" she took a deep breath and continued while Draco faced her with a stoic expression as if he were listening to the daily specials at The Three Broomsticks, "prejudiced, rude, snide, spoiled, and basically just a p-a-t-h-e-t-i-c little snotty creep who thinks he's all that and then some and that every single girl would lie down and die just for the attention of the great Draco Malfoy!" she finished breathlessly. Just because you're a gorge—"

"—ous?" he interrupted, his brows raised in if either mock or genuine surprise, she couldn't tell.

Hermione gave a small jump as she realized what she said and pulled her hand to her mouth. She stared with her dark brown eyes wide into his own fixed cool gray gaze for a moment. "I have to go," she said at last, and turning abruptly, she started back towards the castle, her curly brown hair bouncing over her back with her every step.

Stunned, Draco remained standing there for a moment, unsure what to do now, unsure why he let her walk off without another insult. T_he Life of Marta Clemmens_ lay open on the grass where Hermione had been sitting. Draco picked the book up. Pasted inside the flyleaf was a label with a blue ink drawing of what he guessed was her cat and in an elaborately-looped signature the name Hermione Jane Granger.

_The Mudblood said she liked me, _he thought, retrieving his own book as well and placing them both under his arm. He followed out the path Hermione had taken. _Well, not that she liked me, but thought I was gorgeous…but then again, what girl doesn't find me attractive? _

At that thought, Hermione's words about his being, among other things, narcissistic flooded his mind.

_Merlin, maybe she was right about that one...not that I would agree with that Mudblood on anything, nor would I believe anything she says...though I am gorgeous...oh damn, narcissism again...now I know she was right about that. __So many adjectives she used...and she said them in alphabetical order! It's as if she had it all written down and memorized...no wonder she does so well in her studies!_

During his entire walk back up to the school, her diatribe ate away at his ego. For although he did a fine job of hiding it with ubiquitous stolidity and nonchalance, Draco was easily offended and disturbed by how certain people regarded him. It didn't happen that often, but when it did, when that one particular person had that rare ability to seep through into his pride and dilute it, to successfully critique him when he thought that he was doing his best, left him emotionally wounded. And right now, he felt stress and uncertainty ripple through him. On the stairs leading to the main entrance of Hogwarts, he had been on his way to return Hermione her book, but after entering the castle, he felt his courage drain, and instead, started towards his own common room.

In the hallway that held the entry into the Slytherin quarters, Draco muttered the password at a stretch of stone wall, "Fleur-de-lis", and once the hidden door revealed itself, he entered. Inside the empty room, he collapsed into a leather armchair and dropped the books on the polished oval inlay table beside him. Sighing, he picked Hermione's book back up and opened it, fanning through the pages with his thumb. The pages fell flat between 285 and 286 where a thin, lilac-colored tasseled bookmark stretched out across the paper, keeping her place.

_In 1665 occurred what was to be the last outbreak of plague in __England__. After battling the Black Death for a month in her hometown of Oxford and after conviction from the officials that there was nothing more she could do to save the remaining townspeople whose bodies had rejected the medicine, an exhausted Clemmens departed for Reading to be with her ailing sister. With a depleting supply of Lurzel leaves and with no other natural source known accessible besides the dying crop in the Swedish Sikol gardens, a distance to far to travel to in and be back again in time, she was forced to prepare the remaining plants for a selected few. __Returning to the home occupied by only her sister now, Marta discovered a delirious Elly at death's door and in the care of only a twelve-year-old maid, probably left behind by her parents after exposure to a sick family member. Upon attempt to administer the saving draught to Elly, she was astounded by these words from her younger sibling and recorded them later in one of her many journals:_

"_Put away your medicine; I do not deserve to be spared when there are so many others … I am not afraid of death, Marta. Give them the chance to live again instead of me. My dearest sister, do you understand that you are an angel…a savior to these poor suffering souls? Although I could not, nor could I ever conceive this ability you possess, I now know with certainty that it is not a curse from the devil but indeed a true gift from the Lord. Marta, you must forgive me for not sharing in your joys and sadness, for not being there with you, for doubting you. You must forgive me for my prejudice."_

_Although Marta Clemmens had been born to a family whose ancestors held not a single Witch or Wizard, her magical genius was unsurpassable; but, indeed, after one reads her numerous journals, what stands out most about her accomplishments and life is not her research nor her spell and potion work but her unceasing selflessness and desire to help others with an unbiased mind. That had been her impetus to try to save her sister first thing upon returning to __Reading__: not just because Elly was her only remaining family member, but to prove to her that everyone deserved a second chance. _

Draco closed the book and stared unseeingly at the ornate window across the room from him. Beams of light filtered into the dark room, falling in widening stripes across the stone floor, illuminating particles of dust floating in the air gold.

_She really is better than I am. The Mudblood always gets high marks in everything she does in class...and I can partly see why if she reads books like this in her spare time. She has many friends, even if they do include that damn Potter and Weasley. People actually like her for who she is and not because of what she has or can do to them...but yet she's still a Mudblood...She doesn't at all compare to me, so I'll always be worth more._

_And why is that? _Echoed back a small voice. _Because you _are_ the epitome of everything she said you were?_

Draco fingered the purple tassel hanging down from inside the book's spine. He thought deeply for a moment about his past. "Yes, I am…and I despise myself for it."

* * *

Hermione's attempt to enter the common room undetected proved futile just as she took the first step on the stairs leading to the girl's dormitory. 

"Hey, Hermione, back already? Guess what, I won another game while you were gone," Harry called to her from the table by the fireplace.

Ron stood up and looked from Hermione to Harry. "Yeah, but you're forgetting to mention that I won two!" he added expectantly, waiting for her praise.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked as his gleeful expression turned concerned as he noted his friend's unsmiling face. "Hermione?"

Unnerved by her outburst, Hermione ignored them and climbed the stairs up to her dorm, leaving her two best friends sending quizzical looks up after her.

Why did she feel this way? It didn't really matter that she had let that one adjective slip. It didn't really mean anything…well, it wouldn't if she didn't want it to. Thing is, deep inside she knew it did. After all, she _had_ been staring at him, and she had to admit it hadn't been just out of interest of what reading materials Mr. Malfoy found compelling. Sitting down heavily on her bed, she took a deep breath, thankful the dorm was empty. Even if she had taking the slightest liking to the ferret, she knew she had to kill it and push the idea out of her heart—_mind! _She explicitly corrected herself. Ever since she had met Malfoy, he had portended nothing but malice for her, Harry, and Ron...and many others. She knew that, to him, she was nothing but a Mudblood, an inferior. And even if she did admit to having some distance crush, assuming she could somehow change his nasty attitude and find his heart, why would he, one of the most handsome and, ironically, feared and admired guys in the entire school like her?

_It doesn't matter anyway. Malfoy might be gorgeous, but he is also everything else I said he was. He is just another no-good Slytherin. He'd never change._

That last thought gave her a sharp twang of compunction.

_Who's the prejudiced one now? _Her conscience retorted. _You've created quite a paradox for yourself, Hermione Granger._

Frustrated and angry at herself, she rubbed her eyes harshly. "Damn you, conscience. Damn you, Malfoy."

* * *

**A/N:** Now that you've read the first chapter of _Quite a Paradox_, what do you feel, think, wonder, etc.? Do you love it? Hate it? Want to make it a favourite? Want to erase the link to this page from your computer's history for fear someone will discover that you were reading such a (insert your chosen appropriate synonym for 'awful') HP story? Tell me what you think with a review! But, also, please bear in mind that is one of my very first fanfics, so be gentle with your criticisms. If you found faults with the story, I'm looking for suggestions for improvement, not insults; if you found the opposite, tell me the reasons why you liked it, not that you "just did." So now go ahead and play editor for the day! Click that little button! 


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